


Climbing up the walls

by s_t_c_s



Category: Good Girls (TV)
Genre: Angst, Breaking and Entering, F/M, Idiots, POV Rio (Good Girls), Recklessness, Sex, Trauma, cheesy pornography, discussions of attempted murder; kidnapping; injury etc, discussions of murder fantasies, it's pretty angsty dudes, light sapphic fetishisation and general objectification of women, repeated mentions of gun violence, resistant cuckolding fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 16:21:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22069948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/s_t_c_s/pseuds/s_t_c_s
Summary: A while after the S2 finale. Rio doesn't want to deal with, think about, see Beth. Can't always get what you want though can you.
Relationships: Beth Boland/Rio, Rio (Good Girls)/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 23
Kudos: 105





	Climbing up the walls

**Author's Note:**

> Rio's (cranky) POV. There's trauma - physical and otherwise, and finale fallout: discussion of the shooting, kidnapping, revenge fantasies etc, and he's Not In A Very Good Mood with Beth. (Idk, I fell into my feelings again!)
> 
> Also ft. Rio/OFCs and Rio/cheesy porn. 
> 
> If any of that doesn't sound like your cup of tea then this is probably not the story for you!

He’s still holed up in this dumbass Canadian hotel room, waiting and goddamn waiting, fucking bored out his skull.

Rio swears he used to be better at this drill as he zaps through channels, tryna source something he can actually stomach watching. It’s all bright, shiny fake real people desperate to prove they can cook or dance or whatever, sappy ass movies, or increasingly preposterous news items.

He used to _like_ these almost-respites, didn’t he? Chances to relax, an opportunity to blank his mind, then go sifting around in it. Well, maybe they used to make television better back then. But also– It’s not only that the majority of thought-paths have a tendency to lead back to the same stupid Elizabeth-shaded destination, where he don’t wanna dwell; a zone in which anger flares bigger and brighter than sense.

As it turns out, getting shot in the chest, multiple times, is, shockingly, not exactly a barrel of straight fun. Sure, Rio’d been grazed by bullets in his time, but this shit was _different_. He’s pretty much good now but still – not 100%, maybe never will be again. And that’s annoying, distracting – strips the tolerable edge off sitting around, pissing time away. Cos he feels it in the twinges and occasional shudder of his shoulder, from the constant _awareness_ of his heartbeat he sure never suffered with before, how the reach of his two arms ain’t _quite_ identical now. The indelible marks that bitch left, beyond the highly visible scars.

Being alone with his deliberations, and his not-quite-as-was body, it ain’t calming. Not how it prevailed in bygone days.

Eventually he settles with pay-per-view. Cheesy porn ain’t something he’s particularly made a habit of, but he’s hardly puritanical on the subject. Nor on many. The chick on screen’s attractive in a generic kinda way. Got them extraordinarily spherical fake tits, and a shimmery navel piercing that strikes as strangely retro, nearing whimsy.

And it’s – whatever. Adequate.

Till she starts saying all this shit to the guy who apparently came to fix the pipes. Which – well, it ain’t like Rio’s watching for the dang plot. Her talk is all ‘bout how they gotta be quick and quiet, cos her husband’s in the next room, could walk in any moment. The script jumbles out her mouth as she assumes a position.

Muscles in Rio’s thigh flinch. When she starts banging on ‘bout how he can’t leave no marks on her, cos hubby’d clearly perceive the proofs, Rio jabs down on the power button, too hard. The world on screen disappears in a generally unsatisfying click. He certainly weren’t watching for _that_ plot, jesus.

Rio reckons maybe he will finish up the sudoku after all. Or, if he really applies himself, he could become a late-in-life nap aficionado yet. Or, hell. There’s gotta be something.

*

He’s trying it again, appetite for fucking punishment apparently remaining acute. But this time there’s only women on screen, and maybe that’s where he oughta have made his start. The four of them are rubbing against each other, paired off. It don’t seem like it’d be overly titillating to anyone involved, but all the jiggling about is pleasant to view. At least until this other, demanding, lady turns up, whip in hand. She’s _stacked_ , and pale as a ghost, with all that fluffy reddish-blonde hair. And it’s just. She don’t even look that close to – to _her_. Too smiley for one, wrong kinda nose, jaw all square, excess height. But it’s enough to piss him off, take him way outta it; gets him switching to a documentary about plastics he’s not capable of focussing on.

The heels of Rio’s hands push into his eye sockets a while, then drag lower. His finger tips move on from digging at his scalp, fan across his eyebrows. But soon his pinkies slide his eyelids shut again. Eventually his thumbs are massaging his jaw, the rest of his fingers simply holding tight to his face.

Rio dreams of her that night, again. It’s irritatingly pedestrian – Elizabeth’s kissing him deep and then, ah, suddenly his gun’s in her hand and she shoots him, with a double encore. It’s always variations on the same futile theme. When he wakes it’s not that he’s freaked, unaware of reality or his whereabouts. But he’s been soaked in anger for so long. He can’t think straight, not on her. It’s honestly terrifying. Cos stubbornly keeping his head on right is – that’s _him_. Maybe her entire raison d’etre is destroying every single one of his attributes though.

He ain’t sure if his subconscious is desperately screaming that he’s made the wrong move, letting her live. Or if it’s the total opposite. Could be fucking neither. It’s not – it’s not getting any easier. And that main reason for not biting the bullet, that he’d be mad as hell for being mad as hell at himself over killing her, it's not smelling any less idiotic.

*

He heads out in the evening, after a day hoping his skin’d flay itself from his bones. It’s not the smartest move, no one’s supposed to know he’s here, and theoretically the call could from his boys at any time. But just. Fucking _fuck it_. And he ain’t a moron, takes the back stairs, avoids every security camera, wears a wide-brimmed hat ugly as sin throughout the escapade – no one who’d met him would ever believe it was Rio under it. He's not unfamiliar with generally wrapping himself with precautions.

Rio makes his way into the first shitty dive he sees. Smiles nice, buys a couple drinks, learns her name but don’t commit to retaining it long – places it firmly in that short term memory bank. Fucks her in the alley she leads the way to. Feels _acres_ better, after. Sleeps properly for the first time in – shit he don’t even wanna hazard a guess. Could be since the morphine.

That’s a trick he sticks with once the takeover is done, and he’s back in Detroit. It’s a semi-forgotten but thankfully not atrophied series of muscles, that playbook. It’s not like he’s had anything against a bar or a pretty woman in the last few years or, shit, ever, but he also hadn’t been making it a central point of his routine. Losing yourself in pussy remains distinctly possible, and it comes without the hassles of trying it with booze or pills or brawls. He ain’t really ever had a type, or maybe he did – hot and smart and the teeniest bit crazy – but not one based on a certain look.

And so what if he’s developed the opposite – traits he don’t wanna tangle with, diverts from, even if the lady’s hella alluring, strikes up conversation with him first. He’s drawn to dark skin, dark hair, dark eyes. Ones with the pretty little titties, sometimes. Cos them girls need love too. There was a period after him and Zozo split, back when Marcus wasn’t even two, where he could barely admire a petite brunette. So it’s only the swing of the pendulum, right. Rio does draw the line at a flat ass though, the sand’s gotta possess some lines.

*

He’s reasonably relaxed, in his makeshift HQ. It’s on the unassuming brink of town, above what used to be a bakery. Rio takes circuitous routes, insists the others do too whenever they come, ones involving several car changes. He’s pretty confident Turner ain’t picked up on the place, or what Rio’s running. That good mood sours though, and the papers he’s holding drop back to the desk, when he glances up – is confronted with an unfortunately problematic vision. Elizabeth’s pulling herself up and through the open window, and worst of all is displaying a giant grin.

“Nuh uh,” he snaps, palm up in warning. He don’t stand, ain’t willing to let her read anything as a greeting or encouragement to stay, though his soles buzz with itchy energy.

Her face crumples a little which is – abundantly fine, in and of itself. But as a sign that Elizabeth thought he might be in any way pleased to witness this spectacle, see her at all, it’s beyond concerning. If he’d ever had issues elsewhere with getting his views understood he’d be committing to imbuing his instructions with increased clarity across the board. But it’s only her. It’s only ever this certified fucking batshit kook.

Elizabeth seems largely undeterred, plucks herself up straight, then her hair from her collar.

His raised hand shrinks to just one finger, which twirls as he stares at her deliberately, indicating she’s to turn around and fuck off. But of course the psycho bitch ignores it, keeps coming for him.

“I need to talk to you,” Elizabeth announces, too confident by half or more.

Rio pushes the chair well back from his desk. “You got something to say, you tell Demon.” There’s no possible way the terms weren’t made shockingly clear. Enough for even her.

She starts replying, bur Rio remembers about the same instant. Demon’s not on her now, it’s that newish guy – Spider. Rio sent Demon with a bunch of other far-trusted peeps to sort an ugly sitch down south. How the massive shitshow that’s been on his mind near continually just slipped it is – an uncomfortable tribute to Elizabeth’s ever troubling presence.

“Yeah yeah, so tell Spider,” he interrupts, through her garbage. He don’t owe her the effort of detailed attention.

“But it’s _about_ Spider.” Elizabeth’s leaking triumph, never close to a pleasant portent.

Rio stands, puts her babble aside for a second. “Ey, how you find this place?”

It’s the wrong move, if the smile staining her face is anything to go by.

“I followed Spider.”

He wants to groan, clutch his crown, allow his eyes to slip shut. But he can’t be showing off weakness, certainly not to this audience.

“Aight. Say what you gotta say, make it quick.” Rio’s arms fold high on his chest, jaw closed as he takes sharp breaths through his nose.

Elizabeth gets her phone out, fiddles a bit, presumably getting something to its screen. Once she hints satisfaction, her attention aimed up again, Rio holds out a stiff hand.

She goes coy, or somewhere similar, hugs the phone tight to her chest. Well, he certainly don’t wanna go digging there for it. Or maybe he still does, which is worse, but either case – he’s not gonna, christ.

“You have to promise to hear me out–”

He huffs a big ol’ sigh, straight to the ceiling.

“Spider’s up to something shady,” Elizabeth insists.

His gaze drops back to her as his eyebrows furrow down, practically into his line of vision. Jeez, if he’s gotta explain to her _again_ that they’re all criminals, her included, that she moves pills and washes cash and, oh yeah, fucking _shoots_ people – Rio really might just cut his fucking losses.

But her features have lurched sideways, forming an unimpressed expression. “Like. _Shadier_.”

And then she does remove the phone from its squished placement. She don’t hand it over, but she shuffles to his side, starts swiping through pics so he can see. Her body radiates the warmth of its proximity, neither likeable nor necessary – the one thing she ain’t messed up of Rio’s is his eyesight. It stings in a way reminiscent of being thirteen at the movies, knees and forearms almost but not altogether touching, the pressure wrought by jostling possibility. She’s unaffected, as always, or at least since about five minutes into their acquaintance. Elizabeth was constantly forming a show of terror, weaving over to ask if he was gonna kill her, tryna balance acting scared with extracting her wants. She’s a dry, colourless satellite, leaching Rio’s glow.

The quality of the photos Elizabeth’s sliding through ain’t great overall, some are blurry and her fingers near the lens make an appearance in several. But it’s enough to convey the gist, Spider meeting with a rival crew.

It’s – disappointing. Spider came well vouched for, and hasn’t shied off unpleasant tasks. It’s part of why Rio was okay with putting the dude on temporary Elizabeth-duty. But shit like this, it happens. The _Spider_ side of it anyway.

“So what, you been following him round?”

He gets a breezy uh huh back to that, like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

“ _Why_?”

Elizabeth’s reply, “I was trying to figure out what you’re up to,” is so guileless Rio’s certain his spleen starts burning.

Cos, yeah, he’d expect nothing less from her really. She ain’t composed of much more than nosiness and plots. Of course she had to bounce back eventually, after the shock of him being alive – and his rather dramatic demonstration of such – wore off. But she’s much too open, as if she’s sure they’re simply playing a recurring game, one she believes she’ll lure Rio back to shortly.

“He didn’t spot you?” Rio asks, a stripe accusatory, for something to say as much as anything else.

Her head shakes, firm.

He raises a taunting eyebrow, having been up close and personal with Elizabeth’s stalking skills.

But she presses on – explains that she didn’t use her car, maintained her distance, and so on. She also claims to be a fast learner, which has Rio spinning an eye.

Then he asks the real question, “Why you bringing this to me, Elizabeth?”

Her nose scrunches, eyeballs shift upwards, as if she’s baffled, utterly nonplussed. He’s pretty sure the question ain’t odd. Maybe there’s a slice of sense there, their fortunes are kinda wrapped up in each other’s. But–

“Turning on me more your style, yeah?”

“ _God_ ,” she says, faux-frothy, “you make a silly mistake once or twice, and some people just won’t let it go.” Elizabeth’s smiling, like she thinks she’s funny.

He ain’t.

“You shot me.”

The jovial expression evaporates, but her demeanour don’t much change. “You kidnapped me,” she sends back, as if that’s remotely analogous.

“I’m not sorry,” she adds, virtually haughty. Which is worse. And aggravating – in fact _rude_. “You put me in a position which was – untenable.”

It sounds a bit rehearsed, Rio notes absently, like maybe she’s argued herself to it. But he’s not got a huge amount of attention to spare, between the distraction of his blood audibly boiling, and how hard he’s working on holding himself from _explaining_ basic facts to this maniac, again. The situation with Turner and them weren’t supposed to be long-lasting, she just needed to shoot the damn fed, easy as.

“But I’m not sorry you’re okay,” Elizabeth adds. And what in fuck is he supposed to do with that, huh?

Rio narrows at her, chilly, a moment. Then he extends his hand, makes a gimme motion. Her cell phone finally does get forked over, Elizabeth’s sough twirling out, breeze-like. He makes fast work of sending himself the dubious best from the crop of photographs, before deleting the messages and any trace of his number from her device.

“Bye,” he says, slapping the phone back into her waiting palm, not bothering to work even an unkind fake smile.

She, weirdly enough, doesn’t start putting up a fight, or spaying demands. Elizabeth begins heading back towards the window.

He calls out, Elizabeth’s progress stalls as she rotates back to him. “Anyone see you?” He flings his head dramatically heavenwards, mimicking her climb.

Her lips knit together in disapproval, like she gathers he’s chiding. “I was _careful_.” Her teeth show when she says it. It makes him wanna. Well not _laugh_. Sneer or hiss or fucking howl, maybe.

“Let’s keep it that way,” Rio says, tone set, fingers beckoning. When she roves close enough, he reaches out. Not actually touching but – he grabs the loose material of her sweater at the elbow. Just enough to drag her in the right direction, encourage her into the shitty old service elevator. After a moment’s consideration he follows her to the too-small space, cos he can’t trust her to – hell, _anything_. The ride down is tense, but thankfully short. No one’s around the back hall downstairs, which ain’t particularly unusual, intake and distribution use the cavernous spaces of the main chamber. Don’t hurt to be furtive though.

He sends her on her way, none too kindly, after checking there really isn’t a soul about outside, with a biting, “Don’t come back.”

And then Rio’s gotta sort through the Spider sitch. Cos if the guy’s rotting, potentially selling info, that’s not great. But if Elizabeth managed to follow him here, that means someone else could’ve. If Turner’s worked any of this out it could spell that capital-F type trouble.

*

He’s in a hotel room again, come evening. For no reason other than he was hitting up a hotel bar, and then it got mighty convenient to grab one.

Rio possesses precisely no interest in bringing random chicks home – ain’t ever been one for letting personal details fly free, and has only become more protective of Marcus’ space and privacy as the boy ages. And not every girl you meet wants to bang in alleyways or bathrooms, or is eager to take strange men home, so.

After Isabel or Belinda or – shit, he’s pretty sure there was a ‘bel’ in it somewhere – takes off, Rio stretches out, sated. The piece of paper she scribbled her number on is still near, so he crumples it, tosses it towards the trash can left-handed. It falls short of the destination, Rio’s laughter resonates rank and diaphanous.

So maybe he flicks on the television, checks out the real _premium_ offerings, after. Just to – to pass the time, right. He don’t stumble upon the exact same one as before, but there’s another reaching those same chords. And it hits less horrifying for whatever reasons, ain’t so awful to remember his mouth and fingers kneading through cloth, receiving less time than the ideal, settling for them muffled whines and groans rather than creating an outright sobbing mess.

*

The next time Elizabeth pulls her artful trick, it’s at his new fucking _apartment_. And just – no. Not _here_.

Rio says as much, and she shrinks momentarily before advancing and fucking–

“This some life or death shit?”

She answers in the negative.

“Then get the fuck out.”

She _still_ looks about to argue, so Rio presses on, “I’m not doing this. You’re not playing peekaboo through my fucking windows. Shit, my _son_ lives here.”

Elizabeth skitters some at that reminder, eyes straggling like she expects Marcus to materialise out a wall.

Jesus. “He ain’t here right now,” Rio allows, unsure why he’s tryna placate that stunned shame off her. Other than his familiarity with her lashing out style, anyway. He adds, “You got a message, give it to Pike. You know that.”

Elizabeth faintly snorts at the mention of her almost-minder and, yeah, he can’t exactly blame her. Rio couldn’t really spare any of his best guys post-Spider, not with shit going on north and south in the same interval. So she’d been given a fairly novice babysitter, but, fuck, maybe Elizabeth could make herself useful by hardening the kid up.

With the tracker already placed on her car, spyware set long ago on her computer, there wasn’t that much Pike really needed to _do_ , apart from prevent Rio having to deal with – shit like this.

And then somehow Elizabeth’s turned awkward, nodding and backing up.

Rio shakes his head, cussing quiet. She don’t seem _drunk_ exactly, but shifty on her feet, resembling how she can caper after a few glasses. Or maybe it’s adrenaline, mighta hyped herself for making it here, and now she’s crashing down.

“Prolly break your fucking neck,” he mutters. He hates assuming he’d care, but not as much as letting on to that in front of her. She don’t seem to take it for a win though, drained subdued. “Use the door,” is all he says further.

Elizabeth follows the direction he’s pointing in. He trails, of course, in case she needs proper shepherding out. This could be a wild gambit after all. But she goes easy, after a mite of bolt-fumbling, doesn’t try to rob a painting or plant a bomb. At the last moment, Rio reaches for that huge ugly ass felt hat, plunks it on her head. Just in case – it ain’t likely someone’s watching the front of the building but still. She turns to say something, and Rio can’t be dealing with that, whatever it is. Cos he desperately wants to hear how the hell she found this place, but he don’t wanna have anything out with her here and now. This oughta be off limits, his sanctum. It aches, how strange her being here _ain’t_ ; one sharp question could easily lead to another, and on, on, on. Maybe it’s cos he’s imagined her here enough – in ways both bad and good. Bad and worse, rather.

So he needles at her shoulder a bit with an elbow, enough to prod her fully out to the hall. Slamming the door on her oughta be more satisfying. All he is is exhausted. He goes round locking all his windows, till he swells stale and ridiculous. Sleeps, eventually, in fits and stops.

*

It’s a couple nights before he makes it round to visit Elizabeth. She’s not in when he arrives, so he makes himself very much at home, noses his fill too.

She don’t appear for another two hours, and Rio enjoys her registration of his presence. At least the part where she hasn’t identified him yet and is roiling with trepidation.

“What’s up?” she asks, drifting from him on the couch, towards the kitchen, switching on a selection of diffuse lamps and up-lights.

His voice takes on an echo-y quality through her space. “Returning the favour.”

“At least I have a first floor,” she calls back. She’s fucking joking with him, as if she can’t add up what it cost him to return here, to this. The scene of – if not a crime, then some hardcore bitchiness on Elizabeth’s part. And to his least wished-for activities – tailing her; listening to her bull.

He forms his track to her, hardens his stance, “What did you wanna talk to me about?”

She doesn’t speak straight away, fiddles with a bottle. It’s _irritating_. He’s done her the decency of biting her bait, she could at least spit whatever it is the hell out.

“Found some problem with Pike too?” Rio digs. He can’t quite shake the worry that the matter with Spider was more than it suggested, though it all did check out. Elizabeth’s tricksy, has proven over and over that she’s never really on any side but her own. He wouldn’t put it past her to try to pick off his guys, one by one.

But she looks mighty surprised by the notion, which is at least mildly encouraging. “Pike’s – no. He’s very – young,” she settles on, in the diplomatic ballpark.

Rio holds back an amused noise.

“What kind of gang moniker is Pike?” she adds, considering. “Or is that his birth name?”

Rio don’t know, or care. You make one fucking crack ‘bout being HR in front of someone and–

“I suppose it _is_ a weapon,” she ponders doubtfully.

He voids his throat, patience already frayed, nearing tatters.

“Right,” she says, earnest, “I’m. Uh. Your apartment. I.”

Rio waves that off dismissively. Not cos it don’t matter, fuck no. But her story needs to get a damn move on.

“Um, anyway. Have you noticed anything strange about the older guy who works at the candle store opposite your building?”

That’s not wholly within the bounds of the expected wheelhouse.

What Rio decides to take from it initially, is that she’s got far too much time on her hands if she’s playing spy all over town, which’ll be solved by upping Elizabeth’s workload. She starts nattering on ‘bout only having the extra stretches when her kids are off with her ex. Which is, like, irrelevant far as he can see – he don’t care _which_ weeks of the month she fills with additional cash washing, but that shit’s getting doubled.

Elizabeth don’t react nearly as outraged as he’d like by that, but soon Rio’s distracted with her theory that Doug the candle store dude is working for Turner. The whole thing sounds around as silly as he’d expect outta her. Only…

“I mean, I assume you’ve got some kinda deal with Turner? Right?” Elizabeth’s tone is unpleasantly lacking in ruffles.

He hedges his bets with that sorta half-squint, half-sneer curl, topped with a leisurely wrist roll.

Elizabeth huffs an unimpressed sound, it blurts just short of indubitably pissy.

“So,” she says, and Rio can tell – even before she’s geared on up, just from the modulation, that this is gonna be smeared with more of that well-prepped, pre-formed guff. “He was pretty eager about getting me out of there, letting him deal with the – you.”

Her eyes pour downwards towards the floor, and if there’s any capacity for contrition in her, then _good_. But it can’t matter much.

“And then he came to see me after–”

_That_ perks Rio’s ears up, though he don’t think she notices, eyes still averted.

“Didn’t mention you being alive,” Elizabeth continues. “Which is strange, right?” Her sights find him again.

Rio mmphs, tries to refrain from appearing explicitly interested. “What did he say?”

There’s a blink or two before, “That he’d be watching me, would swoop in if I acted up.” She’s dismissive, or proximal. “He must want you for something,” Elizabeth continues, “and if it’s me, he’s an _idiot_. He had me. I– Well, it was all in front of him.”

Rio just shrugs, it resembles a safest option.

“But I don’t think he trusts. Either of us.”

Well, that don’t signify as a particularly unreasonable perspective.

“How long you hanging around outside to form opinions on any Wax On staff anyway?”

A flush starts to sprawl, bright even with the suppressed illuminance. Elizabeth shakes her head like it’s not important, but, oh, Rio’s sure that it is.

He gives in to the desire to ask the other question nevertheless. “How you find me?” He adds, “You weren’t trailing me,” not as a question, cos it shouldn’t need to be one. No matter how she mighta improved, he’d’ve noticed if she was around. He would, Rio’s almost certain. But if there’s a chance that he’s gone that sloppy or soft or–

“You’d spot me,” Elizabeth says, transparently rueful. It’s awful to have a thought yanked from his head, splayed out. But she don’t seem to find any particular significance to what she said, like she’d only spoken a simple fact. And, yeah, maybe that’s right then.

“So?” he asks, though his mind’s already leaping through. Onto what he’d do if it went vice-versa, were Elizabeth ever cool enough to attempt a disappearing act, dodging the more basic methods. He gets there before she replies, aided by her unwillingness to answer – roughly matching how she’d gone, before he yelled her out his place, the other night.

“You found a paper trail on my _kid_?”

She looks remorseful, but not _enough_. He ain’t sure there’s a large enough quantity in the whole universe.

Elizabeth’s solid on matching his visual attention, though her voice wavers a trickle. “I would never, ever hurt him.”

Rio hates her more than surely anyone, but he’s never seriously thought her capable of intentionally hurting _children_. But then, tearing his papa away’d harm Marcus as much as most anything. Just cos she hadn’t managed it, sure didn’t mean she hadn’t given it a proper go. So he just mms, coats it in his harshest sarcasm.

When Elizabeth tries to pick up the thread of the conversation, he nudges it diagonally, back to Doug the candle man. Her rationale’s built around weird break times, the number of calls he makes, and his shoes being too clean – none of which sounds all that compelling. But then she throws in the piece about him staring into the foyer of Rio’s building, prior to walking around it, counting rows of windows and whatnot. And, yeah, might be worth a scan. From someone a little more _experienced_ than Pike, preferably.

As he turns to leave, Rio kinda wants to – what, chide Elizabeth for constantly tipping her hand to him? Point out it makes him even warier of her – if there’s indeed room for that distrust to grow. It hardly appears worthwhile though, she don’t seem to be playing by the same rules as, like, anyone – objective reality neither. Which ain’t exactly a new attitude for her, to be fair.

“Aight, so that’s the end of this, yeah.” His tone’s unyielding. “You gonna stay away from my walls and windows, quit playing secret agent.”

Elizabeth nods, eyes almost sweet.

*

He thinks long and hard ‘bout pulling Marcus outta school – finding some new, more cloistered one. But Pop’s just got settled there, and this don’t present _entirely_ enough problem, yet. But he does rotate the two of ‘em to one of the other apartments for a few weeks.

By the time Rio’s back, Marcus sequestered with Zo, Elizabeth’s theory ‘bout the candle man has been verified. Which is kinda not that surprising, she’s always had some sharpness – along with the quirking – to her. Plus – send a spy to catch a spy, and all that. Not that he did. Doug’s not gonna be too much of an issue, having a snoop close can be useful, long as you know of ‘em so you’re able feed ‘em wrong.

What’s less mellowing are the piles of Tupperware containers, definitely not his, which have appeared in Rio’s freezer.

*

He finds her sitting on not-exactly-his roof, some afternoons later. The one that’s pretty easy to jump out to from the window nearest his bed, but is an even simpler swing over from the ladder of the fire escape. Okay yeah, he’s tried coming up that route more than once since seeing Elizabeth fresh from it, she’d suggested enjoyment. And there was something to that stretch of his limbs, the carefree scrabbling, that found him a spate of calm. Cos surgeons, physios, all them types, were real good at painting worst case scenarios. Gotta be partly avoiding liability and whatnot, but it weren’t a pleasant position to be placed in, had had Rio fearing the direst. Cos that was the usual story. And with his job – where strength, speed and capacity for intimidation were more than important, could be the border between living and dead – that was harrowing.

And no one’d really talked to him about the other stuff. How being broken and bested sloughed at your centre, sandpapered off your sense of self and competence; lost you any fucking impression that the world made sense, dealt in rationality.

Rio clambers out then up. “Didn’t we talk ‘bout this?”

She doesn’t even turn, but he sees a reluctant shrug. At least he can rule out sudden deafness, Elizabeth wandering up here disoriented as a result.

“I’m not in the mood for playing criminal insider trading or whatever,” he tries, biting back from adding a ‘so fuck off’. He ain’t quite sure what mood she’s in, and the last time he spooked her bad he got shot. A lot.

“Isn’t all insider trading illegal,” Elizabeth cracks, along with her voice.

He don’t laugh. He mighta coughed a bit, that’s all. There’s crates and shit out here, all manner of dust about – assumedly.

Practically resigning, Rio says, “The onion soup was bomb.”

She does twist partially at that to state, “I’m sorry.” Her gloom presents almost _too_ spattered, even for his palate. “I was worried about you.”

He makes his way nearer, slumps on down, right next to her. Cos he ain’t scared of her, fucksake.

“I’m not one of your kids,” Rio settles on. He’s near tempted to lecture on how hypocritical and generally bizarre her being concerned for him is, but she’s gotta realise at least that. Surely.

“Got so many, sometimes I forget who isn’t mine,” burns out of her, weak. Shit, he had an aunt who _always_ made that same kinda lame joke, specially when she was prying. Rio’d fucking _hated_ it. Till she passed, and they was suddenly the only refrains he wanted to hear.

“I think about you. I think about you a lot.” Elizabeth says it sudden, before busying herself with rooting around in her purse. After yanking out a flask, she offers it out. Rio tenses, before taking a small sip, then a larger one when he discovers it tastes allowable. He makes a lazy attempt to smell her breath, she don’t seem smashed at least.

“There’s not a lot of people I can talk to about – stuff.”

“Probably shouldn’t go around shooting who you wanna chat to.” Elizabeth don’t even recoil at his words, just makes a sad, sighing sound.

“You’ve never done anything to an– to _me_ , that you feel bad about?”

Rio lifts a shoulder up and forwards before answering. “Think you topped that list. Baby, I can’t compete.”

She holds his gaze, says, “You could kill me.”

He mmhmms. He’s expecting her to ask then, why he hasn’t. If he couldn’t. What’ll make him. With her penchant for luck-pushing it’s kinda hard to believe she perceives any limits. But Rio’s grateful to receive a different style question.

“Do you think about me?”

He’s not quite sure how to take her meaning, even after she starts going pink. But he figures he has the right to be plenty mean. She’d fucking come for his life, okay. And even if she’s been dropping weird as hell favours on him of late, he hasn’t asked for them. All Rio requires is that she keep on making him money, is aware of the pegs he’s knocked her below, and that he don’t have to deal with her direct. Yet here she is, again. After apparently breaking in, possibly across several occasions – he’d need to interrogate the footage, with some creepy big feeder ambitions, presumably.

“Not really had the time,” he says, with a plush grin. Anyone _normal_ ’d catch his insinuation, but he never can be sure with her, so he knifes home the point, “Sorta found the bar scene again.”

She doesn’t go the slightest bit crestfallen though. If anything, he’d guess she took it for some kinda admission. Which it _weren’t._ It’s not as if he was– Look, Elizabeth hadn’t broken his heart or nothing, besides almost literally. But it weren’t exactly a nice feeling. The number of people he’s fucked then shot is zero, which has to be the kinda respectable, solid ratio a person was aiming for.

With the sun imploring toward the horizon, Rio finds absolutely no inclination to watch the colours of the sky change, not with Elizabeth as a companion. He grunts a goodbye.

She gathers up her shit and follows him though. Given he’s too frequently hollered at her not to go the way she came, to use a damn door, it probably shouldn’t be that much of a surprise. But he ain’t all that used to Elizabeth adapting as instructed.

He holds a hand out to her once he’s back inside, it’s instinct mostly. Rio spent a _lot_ of teen time clambering in and out of places he weren’t supposed to be, more often than not with a girl at his side, at least in the early days. Reminiscing on that brings out a slight smile, which musta been a problem. Cos when he tries to slip his hand back, once she’s down to solid floor, Elizabeth makes it real difficult.

“You never think about me?” Elizabeth presses, with a vibe that’s too _indelicate_ – for her, anyway.

“Sure,” Rio agrees, with a nasty upturn, once he’s finally reclaimed his extremity, the force of the jostle sliding Elizabeth slightly. “Thought ‘bout getting my hands on your throat.”

“Okay,” she says slowly, lashes scuttering. After a staggered lungful it’s, “and then what?”

“Keep on squeezing, you stop breathing, the end.”

She lets out a shaky blow. Firms to add, “Doesn’t sound like a lot of fun for me,” with the dullest laugh.

He’s already turned away, steering a path to the main space, but Rio flips his head back to ask, “What, leaving half a clip in me weren’t always your fantasy?”

Elizabeth’s face goes sorta concave at that, and a fist sprawls up her body. It ends up at her cleavage, a couple fingers breaking upwards to grasp at the tacky charm of her necklace. “ _No_ ,” she spits.

It’s pretty fun watching that hurt disseminate, knowing he can cause it. Though it goes a lil murky, once Rio gets to considering that’s over _his_ pain, at least a touch.

He figures he’s at least pressed her towards wanting to see herself out, won’t havta shout this go round.

But she’s retracted to lean against his wall, if not fully composed at least questing her way there.

“You’re an _idiot_.”

His eyes shift from disbelief.

“You put a bag on my head and a gun in my hand and–”

“That shit’s not comparable,” Rio’s interruption growls low. “I told you I’m not doing this crap with you–”

But he breaks off. The way she’s stepping towards him, that calculating glint in her eye too, crashing a wave of concern over him.

“I don’t trust you,” Elizabeth says. Which, fine. Specially since it goes both directions. Though it seems an odd time to point it out.

“But I think I’d let you do anything you want.”

Rio swallows. Cos – cos that’s a thing people do. And also – _what_?

The wild sheen to her leaden blues deviates _evil_. Her head cocks, scrutiny ranges. “We shouldn’t make a lot of noise though.” She’s still coming on – one slow, steady step at a time.

“My husband’s just outside. He–” Elizabeth falters for a split second, then grins out, “He thinks I just came by for a cup of sugar.” Her register is up too high. That drive is too – present.

There’s a tearing gap where Rio worries he’s not as good at cache obliterating as he’s always thought, that Elizabeth’s been riffling through his search history somehow. Cos he’s maybe headed back to that… _genre_ a time or seven. He does not enjoy flashbacks of Elizabeth, any which way. That elevated memory of walking past her gormless husband ain’t never gonna leave Rio though.

But– nah. Elizabeth’s acting too unsure, cautious even, for him to truly believe any fears ‘bout her digging through his laptop. He can see her brain ticking, those active eyes belying it. That’s how he kinda works out what she’s doing. It’s a probe through their greatest hits, trying to prompt him to–

“But you can’t leave marks, not where he’d see.” She’s full on lip-biting, jesus, unsteadily fingering a lock of her hair. The incongruity, how _daytime_ she looks, only lends it a filthier air.

“Please stop talking,” Rio grinds out. It’s a bit too desperate, how it creaks. But maybe that’s right. Might be his best defence lies in pointing out her cruelty.

He cannot believe she’s doing – whatever this is. There’s a pressing urge to step away, out of scope. But he’s not gonna be intimidated by a sentimental, sugary-savage mama. It’s too senseless.

She goes all gawky and stiff then, thank fuck. Asks, “Do you – do you want me to go?” Finally crimsons, as if she were in some special zone she just blasted out from. Elizabeth fiddles with the strap of her purse as she takes a half-step back.

And maybe that’s all it takes. Proof she’s not intent on splitting him mad as – as her. That she’s capable of giving it a fucking rest. Not desperate to wear him down.

It’s tortuously slow, the beginning of his head shake. He doesn’t know it’s coming till it’s already in progress.

She gasps on inbound air, like she weren’t really expecting that to have worked. Which – fair, really.

“What do you want?” her pitch has dropped, no longer a breathy ploy. That’s how he’s always preferred it.

Rio’s even less sure how to attend to this question than any of her others. Elizabeth chucks down her purse, paces till her chest’s bumping his.

She can barely get out the next part, pulls at his head so she can whisper in his ear, without seeing. It’s a ridiculous line ‘bout his huge cock stretching her; a clue as obvious as any hickey.

Rio cannot hold back a snort at that, not intending scorn. Did he fulfil some already present daydream for her back then? Or has she been reliving it constantly since? Or, most probably, does she just have a preposterous grasp of the human psyche?

She pulls back, and it’s instinctual to give her that reply. He ain’t really aiming to soothe, it’s mere truth. “Come on sweetheart, like you let him touch you.” Cos _that_ had been pretty clear.

“I might,” she insists, which seems weird. But, whatever. Maybe she’s on to some new set up now. “Provoke me, who knows what I’ll do.”

A ghost of a smile tugs at his lips. “Yeah?”

She nods, fierce serious. Elizabeth’s insanely close, from a certain consideration it’d take practically nothing to move his mouth to hers. The scene’s familiar – they’ve been here before, seems the pair of ‘em have been just about everywhere previous.

“Why are you doing this?” he whispers.

“I don’t like thinking of you up here, hating me.” She won’t meet his eyes.

“That all?”

“No! _No_.” The intensity is immediate. And, kinda pleasing. “I don’t want this to be done,” she sways into him a little as she says it, one of his arms steadies her, staying at her waist.

He finds he’s caught in her gaze, by their web, tranced. It’s too–

“Please,” she says, “I want you, please,” as she presses so tight against him – her hip fondles, limbs reach.

He’s got a golden fucking rule about not giving Elizabeth stuff she’s after, which goes at least double if she’s begging. But – god. It’s wretched demanding and beautiful and _naked_ – the voluminous yearning. So he doesn’t kiss her, but he does start removing clothes – hers, his, whatever. Pushes, shoves, kicks – there might be a touch of ripping too.

And then they tumble haphazardly to the nearby bed, Rio’s on top of her, mouthing at whatever skin he can reach – neck, shoulder, arm, one breast, before her twin. Lets whatever fucking brands he’s in the mood for bloom and bruise. One of his hands nudges between Elizabeth’s thighs, fingers stirring inside. She’s so fucking wet, it’s unreal. He rolls his thumb over her clit a couple times, and then she’s moaning out pleas, her hands roving his back, thighs, shoulders – just pushing him close.

And then he’s, shit, tryna hope a condom into reach. He ain’t the kind to keep ‘em on the nightstand, _never_ brings anyone back here. But Elizabeth encourages him sideways, then stretches for her jeans, pulls one out a pocket with a sly smile. And even if he weren’t hella distracted by, amongst other things, snatching the prize from her hand to wrap himself – it’d be hard to fathom exactly how much of this she planned. Cos it’s gotta be one of the worst seduction attempts anyone’s ever been subjected to. And this lunatic once snared him to her place to show off her empty refrigerator and mismatched socks. But fuck if he weren’t into it then. And now–

Now the tip of his cock’s pressing at her entrance, and Elizabeth’s so needy, forming these hitching whines. It makes him wanna tease, prolong the wait. But that sweet, sweet slide is too enticing so he gives in, pushes, pushes, pushes till she’s loosing rough choked off sounds. Then he’s thrusting rhythmic, shallow at first, then not so much. Between Rio’s hand and thigh there’s enough pressure on one of Elizabeth’s hips to keep her from completely raising to meet him proper. It’s – lush, that desperation swirling out her.

When her nails start digging into his flesh – one hand curled over his shoulder, the other pressed to his side – he drops his head, gnaws at her chest. Once she’s inching close to release, the hand scritching near his waist leaves, heads for her body instead. He considers grabbing it – preventing her, or taking over. But he don’t, lets her ply her clit. Rio raises from her hip too, relishes in all that soft, soft skin as his fingers slide higher – dip with the curves, fiddle and pinch over ribs.

Able to press up forcefully now, it don’t take long till Elizabeth’s a mewling, sopping sight, humming nonsense as her orgasm stretches. Rio’s got a hand on her tit, the other wiggled round to her ass – no longer holding himself up, mouth clamped on her clavicle when he finishes pounding into her, spasming as he comes with a roughly startled groan.

Amid the afterglow, Elizabeth runs a gentle palm over his chest. Rio’s surprised to catch her glossy with unshed tears.

“Okay,” she grumbles. “Maybe I’m a _bit_ sorry. A tiny bit.”

It’s a piss-poor apology, if that even hit the requirements of one. But. Maybe he gets it, an _iota_. Cos there’s a ton of shit he ain’t ecstatic ‘bout having done. But honestly, if he and Marcus are okay, does he give a serious fuck? _Nah_.

“This ain’t gonna be. A regular occurrence,” he tells Elizabeth, gesturing between ‘em. She nods, lipping meek, appears to agree. But he can’t trust her. She’s got a powerful habit of acting she’s acquiesced, then heading off to do whatever the fuck she wants. Maybe he’d lean closer to proud of it if she wasn’t constantly screwing him over, damn the consequence. Although – don’t _seem_ she’s been fucking with him all that much recentish.

Elizabeth swings a leg down, extends for some outfit item or another.

“Whoa, hold on.”

She turns, intrigued.

“Getting it out our system? Gotta make sure to squeeze every drop. _Surely_.” Rio’s features snag suggestively.

Then Elizabeth goes and gets a bona fide _smirk_ going, and Rio’s gotta wipe that off soon as fucking possible, anything’s fair game and–

**Author's Note:**

> I *almost* feel like I went too hard on the cheesy callbacks/parallels, but then I remembered how ridiculous this show is and I think I'm all right on that one.
> 
> Story title is from the Radiohead song of the same name, as well as the phrase.
> 
> (Apparently a lot of hotel chains don't offer porn channels these days, and technically not all insider trading IS illegal. But Rio frequents funky outlier hotels, and they're both very, very stupid.)


End file.
